


Tomb Raidin' in the Rain

by GlobHerman



Category: Tomb Raider (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Horror, Humour, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, i feel odd tagging this bc it changes each chapter, i guess?, okay so so far we have, stuff and things, that's about the extent of what i promise with this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4709288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlobHerman/pseuds/GlobHerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like Singin' in the Rain? Eh, not really quite the same. Instead of picking lyrics/songs to go with my chapters, I've decided to write chapters to go with lyrics/songs. So this is just going to be a collection of one-shots based on the song of the day. Sometimes more about the lyrics, sometimes more about the overall concept, sometimes just an idea from a verse, but always based on a song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. O' Death

_o' i am death, and none can tell  
_ _if i open the door to heaven or hell_

_-o' death, amy van roekel_

* * *

[in which there's no time to explain] 

“Okay, Lara, I’m not trying to rush you here or anything but… _we’re standing in a room that is full of saw blades, meat hooks, unidentified meat hanging from said meat hooks, what looks to be a regular toolbox until you see the nice coat of blood covering it, I think that might be a blueprint for some sort of torture machine in the corner… and oh, look, a fucking human head floating in a jar of fuck knows what._ ”

Sam’s description of the room is rather disturbingly… okay, no, Lara will admit that it is actually _completely_ disturbingly accurate. The one detail that Sam left out, however, is that the two of them are alone. “I _have_ noticed these things, Sam. And maybe that isn’t the greatest sign-“

“How is it anything but a bad sign?”

“Sam, just… listen, okay? Maybe it isn’t the greatest sign, but we’re also alone in here.” Lara’s wandering around the room, examining things, as she speaks. “Don’t you think we should take the time to try and figure _something_ out?”

Sam doesn’t understand how Lara can be quite so calm at the moment. Sam is also rather panicked, though, which is probably not helping. “What are we figuring out? Our preferred method of death? No. No, no, no. We need to keep moving. I’m not fucking sitting here and waiting for that psycho to find us.”

“Well, you could choose to _not sit_ , and help me look around, instead.”

Keen is not how Sam would describe her feelings about that plan, but if Lara won’t immediately keep moving, _like any sensible human would_ , it probably would be best for her to help. After all, she’s the one who’s watched dozens of campy horror films. So, maybe Lara has common sense, but Sam has _horror_ sense. She proved that when she stopped Lara from opening a death door. One of those trick doors that leads to imminent death. Lara didn’t even stop for a moment to think, she just crouched down to lift up the little hatch. Horrified, Sam had to tackle her to stop her in time. It hurt, quite a lot, but Sam figured that it was better than dying. That, Lara agreed upon, even if she was confused about how it was apparently an obvious death door. Exasperated, Sam had whisper-yelled at her, “ _Because it looks like the way out!_ Never go the obvious route! The obvious route is _always_ the death route.”

All of their efforts from that point have led them to this room. To this moment; Sam spinning a circular saw blade as she stands watch over Lara, who’s found some sort of journal that is somehow more important than not staying in this room and dying. “When we get out of this- although surviving is seeming more and more unlikely the longer we stay in this fucking room- we are going to marathon horror movies. For days. Until you learn that standing here like this is what is going to cause our demise. _Our demise_ , Lara.”

Lara flips a page, looks at the illegible scribbles, then looks at Sam. “You know, you’re being very dramatic about this.”

“Pardon me? Dramatic?” The saw blade stops spinning when Sam places her hand on the flat of it. “How am I supposed to be going about this? You just want me to, I don’t know, chill out and look at the relaxing scenery?” She glances over at some of the unidentified meat, to make her point, but quickly averts her eyes when she realizes that making her point in that manner was actually quite a terrible idea.

“Stay calm, Lara. Calm. Panicking is pretty much the same as dying at this point,” Laradeadpans and flips another page, only to find even more intense illegible scribbles. “I seem to recall somebody saying that. Just a few hours ago, I think.” The next page is even worse and it seems the journal is turning into a colouring book.

“Y’know, the nerdy one usually dies pretty quickly,” Sam mutters under her breath.

When Lara hits a journal page that’s scribbled over so completely it might as well be a piece of black paper, she plops the journal back down. Without looking at Sam, she replies, “Hm, I though it was always the ditzy cheerleader.”

“Hey! I never did any cheerleading.” Sam pauses for a moment, and points at Lara when she starts back up. “Wait. You just- wow, that was uncalled for.” Lara simply glares at her. “Nerdy is not bad! Nerds are all intelligent and shit, alright? But, whatever, the fourth rule of not dying while being hunted by some fucked up killer is that turning on each other means somebody dies, so let’s rewind that, shall we?” She sighs and waves vaguely at the journal. “So, anything useful in there?”

“Uh…” Lara’s somewhat reluctant to give Sam any proof that she was justified in her irritation. Lying isn’t going to help the situation, though. “Not particularly.”

“I’m shocked.”

Lara starts digging through what appears to be a large pile of junk. “Must you be an ass about it?”

“Okay, no, fine, I won’t be an ass about it if you _stop picking through that shit_ and keep moving instead.” After grabbing some bloodied pliers, Sam pokes at the unidentified meat. “Do you want this to be you? This could be you. _We need to go._ ”

“But Sam, don’t you want to try and figure out-“

“No! I have no intention of figuring out anything except how to get the fuck out of here.” Each time Sam gets annoyed, she yells louder (Lara finds this to be very counterintuitive, but she’s not going to say anything), and gestures more exaggeratedly. “Do you know why the cat dies, Lara? Curiosity. Curiosity kills the cat, Lara. Let’s not be the cat.”

“Right… I don’t understand why you’re in such a rush, though. I mean, I knocked him out pretty solidly.”

“Oh my god…” Sam mumbles to herself. “Crazy psycho killers are like energizer bunnies. They keep going, and going, and going.” She pauses to think, clicking her tongue. “Actually, that’s not a bad concept… a killer dressed as a larger pink bunny.”

Slightly bitter about Sam’s hypocrisy, Lara abandons the junk, steps over to a bookcase and asks, “Now who isn’t focusing?”

“Fine, yes. But if we get out of here… good movie concept, no?” Lara rolls her eyes, and reaches for a book, but Sam smacks her hand away, and the book drops to the ground. “There. Is. Nothing. To. Find. We need to just figure out how to… wait. Shit. Okay, you win. You found something.”

Lara turns to see what Sam is currently squinting at, and it seems that she had picked just the correct book to toss onto the ground. There’s a button on the wall, still half obscured by another book. Sam lurches towards the bookcase and shoves the rest of the shelf to the floor.

“Could I maybe get a ‘thank you’, at least?” 

Sam sighs. “Thank you, Lara, for wasting precious time looking at meaningless papers and pointless books.”

“That’s not exactly what I…” There’s no point in arguing, especially since it’d probably lead to the breaking of rule number four. “Whatever. So, did I actually do something right?”

“I don’t know.” Sam backs away from the shelf and starts pacing. “See, this kind of shit- hidden passages? This kind of shit is a wildcard. It could be, I don’t know, we could walk right into this dude’s lair. We could end up outside somewhere. We could end up in some secret fucking tunnel that leads to Atlantis.” She ends her tirade by grabbing Lara by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. “ _Hidden passages have no rules_.”

Lara is starting to worry, ever so slightly, about Sam’s sanity. It’s not that she expects her to have a level head on her shoulders, who would, in this situation? But she’s starting to get a little _too_ unhinged. At this point, she’s going to drop dead of an aneurysm before anybody has a chance to axe her or chainsaw her. “Alright, Sam, how about you take a deep breath, and then we can weigh the pros and cons of risking this hidden passage?”

“It might not even be a passage! It’s just a button! What if it causes spiky shit to fall from the ceiling?” She starts weaving around the room, evaluating the ceiling. “It could be a death button!”

“Breathe. Please.”

Dropping her flailing arms, Sam actually does stop to take a moment for a deep breath. “Yeah, okay. Okay.” Lara breathes too, in relief. Immediately after, she breathes loudly in annoyance as Sam follows up with, “So, you go find something to write this list on, and I’ll fashion us something to write with. We can gather some blood from whatever-the-fuck that is over there for ink.”

To provide an example that they don’t need to go to such ridiculous extremes, Lara walks back over to the journal. Perhaps that’ll calm Sam down. “Look, we don’t need to…” She freezes in place before she has a chance to pick the book up. “Uh, are those…?”

“Footsteps? _Yes, Lara, those are fucking footsteps_. I think I mentioned that we should hurry?”

Lara rushes over to join Sam in front of the bookcase again. “Jesus, Sam, I get it! I very much agree we need to hurry now, so get over it. We need to decide what we’re doing.” She looks at the bookcase, looks back at the door they barricaded after entering through, then over to another unidentified door (blood-splattered window included), and finally over at a small vent. “Where are we going?”

“I might have a better idea of that if somebody hadn’t spent a bunch of time reading crayon drawings.” Lara isn’t going to protest, not right now. “Fuck. Fuck. You know what? Fuck it. Hit the button.”

Lara throws her hands up in faux-confusion. They’re actually flying up into the air in panic. “Me? Why am I the one hitting the button?”

Sam stares at her incredulously. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. _Now_ you’re being cautious? Just, ugh, just get out of the way.” She pushes past Lara to smash at the button. 

The entire bookcase retracts and slides to the side, excruciatingly slowly. The pair of them leap through the moment the opening is wide enough. Unlike Sam, Lara doesn’t immediately start running, opting to take the time to force the bookcase-door closed again. When she catches up, Sam is standing at a split in the path.

Sam is not at all happy with this development. Hidden paths are meant to go straight from one shitty bookcase to another. Hidden paths should not provide more life or death choices. She _is_ glad that Lara’s back, though. Glancing over her shoulder only to find absolutely nobody following her was almost worse than if she had seen the crazy killer dude behind her. “Lara. Thank god. The fuck took you so long?”

“I thought we should cover our tracks? Not leave a giant signal that we came through here?” She’s suddenly concerned that she did the wrong thing.

The concern leaves her when Sam aggressively pats her on the back. “Holy shit, you’re learning _Horror 101_! I’d be proud if I wasn’t so busy panicking.” Sam turns back to the two paths and does a quick round of ‘eeny, meeny, miny, moe’ in her head, and then frowns. “Okay, I don’t like that method of choosing. Feels wrong. Time for you to step up with your new skills, Lara. Left or right?”

The immediate fear on Lara’s face almost makes up for all her bullshit back in that last room, Sam decides. “I apparently can’t even open a door properly! You want me to pick which direction we go? What the hell, Sam?”

“Gee, things get much more stressful when you’re the one making decisions, don’t they?” Sam says, sounding smugger than she should. She follows up by sighing. “I don’t know, either. I don’t know the protocol for this.” Her arm starts flailing again, this time back and forth between the two choices ahead of them.

“God, okay. Okay. We’ll go… uh,” Lara rubs at her temples, abruptly aware of a throbbing pain in her forehead. “Shit. Left. Go left.”

Sam’s arm sweeps left. “Lead the way, my navigator.”

“ _You little shit_. Now everything is going to be my fault, isn’t it?” Despite her annoyance, Lara pushes past Sam and takes a few tentative steps into the left tunnel. “Can we go slow now, please?”

“Yes. Let’s. Slow and steady wins the grindhouse escape.” Sam mimics Lara’s small steps. “It’s kinda dark in here. You still have that lighter?”

Lara pats her pockets while she shuffles down the path. When she finds the lighter, she pulls it out and flicks it open. The flame dies almost immediately. “Well. Yes, I do still have it. I have a minor issue, however.”

“Now, why did I not expect that?” Sam’s head drops as she shakes it. “Fucking split in the path’s thrown me off too much. Alright, last resort backup resource time.” She pulls her phone from her pocket and checks the battery before tapping the flashlight on. “Might as well use this for something, seeing as there is absolutely no reception here. Obviously. I’ve got seventy two percent battery left.”

“So, what? We’ve got ten minutes of light?”

“ _Lara._ ”

“Seriously, Sam. That thing goes from full charge to dead before you finish a call.”

Sam shoves the phone towards Lara, and hisses, “Just take it! We’ll talk about how terribly these are manufactured later.”

After a fair amount of tiny steps taken while staring directly at the ground, the tunnel opens up into a larger chamber-like area. Sam slowly spins to evaluate the situation, and her voice raises when she sees what’s behind them. “You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me! Bullfuckingshit.” The tunnel that the pair of them just exited is twinned by another. “They both led to here. I’m beginning to doubt my horror sense.”

“Maybe the other one had a death-something in it?” Lara offers.

Sam huffs. “Maybe. Doesn’t matter anymore, I guess. Just remember which we came through, in case we need to turn back. What else do we have in here?” She finishes her complete spin. 

Lara stays quiet, waiting for the impending explosion.

“Oh, come on! What is this? _What is this_?” She recklessly runs up to one of the four numbered doors in front of them, and futilely tries to see through the iron barred windows. Giving up on that, she steps back to look at the bright red numbers painted above each. “I haven’t seen any numbers anywhere. No numbers. Nowhere. You see any numbers?”

Lara tasks a risk when she answers, “I might have, if somebody had let me look through a few more things. Or kept quiet while I looked through what I did have a chance to see, at the very least.”

A grumble escapes Sam as she looks closer at the numbers. They don’t even make sense. No sequential one, two, three. “Is any of this, like, a math puzzle that people would normally miss?”

Lara shines the flashlight (forty six percent battery remaining) up at the numbers. They really are completely nonsensical. “I don’t- nothing that I can see, Sam. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You aren’t the one painting fucked up numbers everywhere. Just- give me a minute to think about this. Turn that flashlight off.” Lara does, and Sam runs every numerical situation she can think of through her head. She’s blanking.

Lara notices this, and quietly walks up to each door. She also tries to peek in the windows, but no luck. Sam seems to still be thinking, so Lara takes the time to rattle each doorknob. All of them seem to be unlocked, which is not helpful in the least.

A loud thunk makes the both of them jump. “Lara, what the fuck was that?”

“How am I meant to know?” She rattles the doorknob of the door she’s standing in front of, again.

Sam snatches the phone from Lara’s hand, turns the flashlight back on, and glances down both paths. “I don’t like it.”

Another thunk sounds out, louder, this time. “Sam…”

“ _I know, Lara._ ”

“Great. So what do we do?” Sam can hear in Lara’s voice that she's more freaked out than she's trying to let on. “Hey, _horror-guru_ , what the hell do we do?”

“Uh. I… random numbers are random. I can’t do much with what we have right now.”

“Do we turn back?”

Another thunk.

“Fuck no!” Sam shoots a ‘you’re insane’ look at Lara.

“How do you know the noises aren’t coming from one of these doors? Everything echoes down here.”

Sam dashes back and forth between each of the doors and both of the tunnels. “I don’t know! Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I don’t know.”

“I think we just have to pick one. Unless you want to try turning back.”

Again, Sam is not all that keen on the idea. But she doesn’t know what else to say, so she stands and stares at the numbers. “There _has_ to be something.”

One more thunk. A _loud_ thunk.

“We have to pick. I don’t know how, but we have to pick!” Sam stares blankly at Lara. Her horror sense is failing them, miserably. “Do you have _any_ suggestion, Sam?”

“Uh…”

“Fantastic. Guess I’m deciding again.” Lara takes a few steps back and looks up at the numbers again. It’s pointless. “I’m just going to… this one. This one.” She points at the third door, steps forward, and reaches to open it.

The handle is half turned when Sam sees it. “ _Fuck!_ Lara, stop! Stop! It’s-“

Lara doesn’t have a chance to stop. When the handle turns completely, something clicks underneath her, and a door that neither of them spotted before slides open.

A large splatter of blood instantly obstructs Sam’s view.

Her simple reaction is to sigh as she brings her palm up to her face. “Goddammit, Lara.”

Beside her comes an even more exaggerated sigh, as well as a loud clatter. 

Sam looks over at the noise. Lara is leaning back on the couch, the heels of her palms pressed against her forehead. “You’re the one throwing the controller? _I’m_ the one who’s been stuck on this level for hours. No thanks to you, by the way. You’re almost worse than the damn A.I.” She rolls her shoulders in an attempt to relax them, after straightening herself from the hunched position she found herself in. “My bad this time though, I guess. It was the second door. The number above it was the release date of the first in this series.”

“Why do you even play these games? I haven’t seen you get so stressed out about anything in ages. I thought you might _actually_ drop dead. Beside me. IRL?” She pauses. “Did I use that right?”

Sam ignores Lara’s lingo inquiry and just grins. “But that’s what makes it fun!”

Lara doesn’t know if the game’s gotten to Sam that badly, or if she’s actually being honest. Doesn’t much matter at this point, and Lara takes a quick look at the clock. Three in the morning. That’s probably not helping. This time, she’s just going to do exactly what Sam says, and she rubs at her eyes for a moment before she picks her controller back up to press start. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sam isn't a fan of the often pointless collectibles that are hiding in corners, but lara likes finding the bits of backstory
> 
> I mentioned I've been playing a fuckton of Until Dawn?
> 
> So this song is actually an old traditional folk song. I believe the original version came from Dock Boggs, but don't take my word. This version, however, is the main theme song of Until Dawn. Hence this chapter is slightly more about where the song came from, not purely the lyrics.
> 
> Oh, and there is actually a movie called Bunnyman Massacre. Sadly, the bunny is not pink. The bunny has a chainsaw, though. I've not watched it yet, but you should google it, if only to see the poster/cover.
> 
> Anyway, this is meant to be a bunch of shorts (yeah right) based on songs, in some manner.
> 
> Take a listen to them after reading, if you have a few minutes.
> 
> Also feel free to throw suggestions at me, here or at the tumblebumble I made (globbyherman, because some fuck already had globherman), although I make no promises. My little trend of sad shit and whatnot somewhat carries on into my iTunes library. Send me something happy.
> 
> I was going to call this Lara Croft and The Pirate Bay, but I thought that might be a little too punny and yes my music collection is all completely legal why would you ask that


	2. Basket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ughhhhh i very much dislike this chapter but i can't bring myself to delete it  
> skip it  
> just skip it*

_my bones are worn, my hip won't hold_  
_i used to be so young, how did i get so old?_  
_won't you take my cane and hold my hand, you're holding on to all i have  
_ _just a basket full of memories, and i am losing more each day it seems_

_-basket, dan mangan_

* * *

[in which Lara _does_ want to remember] 

Lara’s memory isn’t what it used to be.

The other day, she forgot to bring home a carton of milk from the grocery. That’s not what bothers her, though. She’s spent decades being chastised by Sam, for doing that exact thing.

What gets to her is when she can’t remember the big things. Nothing is ever forgotten completely, but events do get hazy. Too hazy to remember important details, or details that were important to her, at least.

Some of the hazy times that make her feel the worst are the moments before she met Sam. Tagging along with her parents on expeditions. Camping trips with Roth. Spending holidays with Winston, who could carve a perfect turkey. It’s not even that those are her favourite memories, although some of them have the potential to bring a smile to her face. In truth, they’re the worst because if something escapes her, when she looks to Sam, all that she gets in return is a sad smile. She can’t be upset with Sam about it, though, because how is she meant to know? It isn’t her responsibility to catalogue each and every of Lara’s memories. Still, Lara can survive with only vague recollections of being a child. How many people actually do remember that far back anyway?

The fantastic thing about Sam though, is that she actually has catalogued a fair share of memories. Her compulsion to constantly carry a camera _everywhere_ led to a lot of shared experiences being recorded. They’re on record. Official. Even if Lara forgets something from those recordings, there’s still proof that it happened. That it hasn’t fallen into the limbo of lost memories, never to be thought of again. That she isn’t making something up just to fill a blank in her brain. She doesn’t always trust herself with that, and she certainly doesn’t trust others to correct her. Let old Lara live in her fantasy world, they say. Don’t shatter it.

It doesn’t help that there are so very few people that do actually know of these ‘fantasy’ stories. The people who know that these stories aren’t fantasy, not at all. She never wanted fame, that was never a goal. But it found her, somehow. It was difficult to manage, but Sam was always there to help. At the time, they felt it would be best to keep certain parts of her expeditions hidden. Those fantasy parts.

Lara isn’t so sure that was the right choice, not anymore.

Those stories, the secret ones? They live on only in her head, for the most part. Sam wasn’t always able join her, and Lara never bothered with cameras, not the way that Sam did. So now? If bits go missing? They’re gone, like that final piece of the puzzle that fell under the table. The one that got stuck to a sock before you noticed it was gone, and was consequently never seen again. They’re also like that puzzle piece, in that there’s no replacing them. You just can’t replace experiences like she’s had. But she can survive with butchered versions of those memories, too.

The important ones, the ones that almost physically hurt when she can’t completely grasp them, they all involve Sam. Those are the ones that she feels privileged to own. But they’re also the ones that Sam can fill in for her. Sure, Sam doesn’t have a photographic memory either (only a photographic memory card), but that’s when Lara gets to step in and fill things in for Sam. The pair of them are their own little puzzle, a small one. Just two pieces. Maybe the corner of one piece is bent, while the other has a spot that’s worn down, but it’s the best damn puzzle in the world, as far as they’re concerned.

The funny thing is, neither of them remember getting old. If it weren’t for the fact that they don’t quite recall the specifics of being young, they might as well still be twenty years old. It’s hard to keep an eye on the time while you’re busy exploring the mysteries of the world.

But time doesn’t care if you’re watching it, it’ll keep passing, and it’ll take it’s toll on you whether you pay attention or not. The truth behind that cruel fact is what caused Lara and Sam to find themselves slowing down, feeling the exertion of every trip hit them harder each time they set out. That was when they started taking longer breaks before setting out again. It turned into a cycle of becoming weary, taking _just_ the slightest amount longer to plan out a new trip, returning _just_ the slightest amount wearier, and so on. Slowing down, steadily, until they couldn’t slow any more without ending up at a complete halt. And that inevitably halt was where the grand adventures ended. That’s when the retelling of their stories began, and when the threat of forgetting became a reality.

The truth is, not all of the best memories were born from fantastic exploits. Neither Lara nor Sam could ever find it in themselves to refer to themselves as the domestic type, not with all the globetrotting. But the downtime between it all gave them opportunities for plenty of savoured moments. Little things, like decorating a Charlie Brown style Christmas tree that Sam decided to bring home on the twenty third. They dressed that suffering tree up just the same as they would have a ten foot pine fir. Little things like Lara trying her damnedest to create a cake that could pass as red velvet (Sam’s favourite) as a birthday surprise. It wasn’t much of a surprise when Sam came home to a blaring smoke alarm. Little things like Sam hiding in a corner, doing nothing to help Lara shoo out a stray pigeon that somehow made its way into their flat. That’s how Lara tells the story, anyway. Sam still insists that she was only in that corner because Lara was trying to corral the bird towards her, so she could capture it. Some of those simple things are the best. Simple as laying outside, on the grass, watching the stars and chatting of explorations to come. Maybe even just a simple kiss, after a not so simple trek through uncharted land.

However, it _is_ actually a kiss that Lara’s considers to be her favourite memory. Sam as well. They don’t consider it as simple, though. It was the farthest from simple, and the polar opposite of little. That meaningful memory? The most meaningful of them all? It’s the moment that one of them (they can’t remember which) threw caution to the wind, and leant in for that first unexpected kiss. They had built up to it for years, danced around it for longer, all for the fear of the potential loss. It seems silly now, to waste that much time before giving each other a chance. Although, maybe they only see it that way due to the passing of the time that followed. Most likely, it's been so long since- _they’ve_ been so long since, that they’ve forgotten just how intense the fear of losing the other was. But in the end, all that matters is that _that_ was the moment where they started. Not only the beginning of Lara _and_ Sam (as opposed to separate and plain Lara and Sam), but also the onset of all the important memories as well. So, that kiss is the memory that Lara is hellbent on taking to the grave. It’s _the_ memory. It’s the one.

New memories _are_ still created, of course. It’s impossible for the passing of their lives to eventually become anything other than a memory. But these new ones, they just don’t live up to anything from the past. And maybe that’s partly because of the pieces that Lara and Sam lose each day. Partly because they grasp to those pieces so desperately, to the extent where it’s possible that what’s been lost wasn’t actually as amazing as remembered. But maybe, just maybe, it’s because they’ve stopped taking chances. Meaningful chances, the kind that can change everything or lead to anything. Chances just like that impulsive kiss that put everything to a start.

The two of them, they’re old. Lara’s the first to admit it. Their bodies are well worn from countless adventures, and a lot of things are ever so slightly more tiring than they used to be. But you don’t need to be at the peak of physical fitness to make memories. You don’t need to be young to make them, either. There _is_ no requirement. You don’t even have to take those huge chances; all you really need is to chance a step towards _something_. Anything.

You can make memories however you please, whenever you please.

It’s that realization that causes Lara to toss her novel onto the table, not even taking the care to put in a bookmark. Sam looks up, when she hears the thud, and finds Lara grinning at her.

“Hey, Sam. Let’s go pack a bag or two.”

Sam isn’t in on the plan, not yet. “What?”

“Let’s go.”

Lara’s sudden enthusiasm is infectious, but Sam still doesn’t know what she’s becoming enthusiastic about. “Go? Where are we going?”

“Don’t know yet. I haven’t gotten that far. But we’re setting out and we’ll keep going until we get there. Wherever there ends up being.” Lara’s grin is growing, and Sam’s is quickly catching up as she starts to get an idea of what Lara is up to. “I don’t know about you, but I’m done with this. Staying here and saying ‘remember when?’ like it’s the only phrase we know. Everything we’ve done, it’s been great. But we’re dwelling on those memories, and agonizing over losing the details. Let’s go make new ones.”

Sam’s standing up before she even agrees to the plan. Her smile turns into laughter when she asks, “What exactly are gonna do?” She gestures between the two of them before adding, “I mean, look at us. We aren’t exactly set to be chasing real life fairy tales anymore.” She frowns. “I think I might have actually yelled at a kid who was on our lawn, a few days ago. Old people do that. _I’m old people_ , Lara.”

“ _I told you_. I don’t know what we’re doing yet.” Lara’s hand reaches out for Sam’s, and their fingers automatically entwine. “But we’ll be doing whatever it ends up being together, and you know what? I think that that’s the only thing I care about now. We don’t need to do anything grand. We did so much of that, I think I forgot that there are other ways of living. Just staying here, living in a past that we can’t always remember quite right- that almost feels like we’re getting too close to having nothing left to lose.” Lara pauses to take a glance out the window, and that smile is still on her face when she turns back to Sam. “So let’s go. Let’s go find ourselves some new memories.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anybody else picturing like, idk, an octogenarian lara inadvertently causing a shitstorm at a denny's or something
> 
> if you listen to one song from everything that i write in this lil' series, this is probably the one you should choose bc lol this will probs be my favourite song but least favourite chapter
> 
> *if you didn't skip it, that's cool, thanks, don't use it as a baseline for the rest of this or w/e


	3. One Week

_three days since the living room  
_ _we realized we're both to blame, but what could we do?  
_ _yesterday you just smiled at me  
_ _'cause it'll still be two days 'til we say we're sorry_

_-one week, barenaked ladies_

* * *

[in which Lara and Sam are literal children]

_Sunday_

"God!" Lara's jumping around the room, flailing papers about in the air. "What the hell did you do that for, Sam?"

The scene playing out in front of her is possibly the funniest thing Sam's seen in awhile. She'd pull out her camera, but Lara actually looks like she might legitimately be upset. "Oh, yes, I did that on purpose. Right." She's trying not to laugh at the spectacle in front of her, but. Panicked flailing arms. "Because my hobby  _is_  actually knocking shit off of tables."

"It's not funny, Sam." Oh, but it is, and Sam falters, letting a giggle escape her. " _Sam._ "

"Come on, you have to admit that that chicken dance you're doing is pretty ridiculous."

The papers stop flying around and Lara's arms stop flailing. "How is this funny? Look at this!" She throws the damp stack of papers at Sam, not at all gently, and when Sam fails to catch them, they squish into her shoulder and then plop wetly on the floor.

Looking down at the lump at her feet, Sam has to bite her lip to keep from laughing any further. "I don't…" She has to stop to steady her shaky breathing, though Lara's probably already noticed the stifled giggles. "I don't see the big issue here."

"Seriously? You don't see any problem with this picture?" Lara stoops to pick up the wet pile and holds it in front of Sam's face. "Take a closer look. Wait, maybe if I just…" Before Sam has a chance to react, Lara lifts the papers up over Sam's head and wrings them out.

There's not enough water to make much of an impact, and Sam is starting to worry that she's going to make her lip bleed.

"Do you see the issue now?" What makes Lara's little tantrum even funnier, is that Sam is now convinced that she's actually dead serious.

Sam glances up at the twisted papers above her. "Uh, actually, if anything, I'd be feeling the issue. I'm not, though. That, uh, I'm sorry to tell you this, but that wasn't all that effective." Her shoulders are starting to shake, and she takes that as a sign to give up on holding back. As a result of keeping it in so long, a loud bark of laughter kicks off her giggle fit.

Lara still doesn't seem to notice the ridiculousness of situation, and her glare is deadly as she tells Sam, "Sofa. You're on the sofa tonight."

"Really.  _Really?_ You  _cannot_  be serious about that." Lara's glare stays steady. "Oh my god. You are." Sam's hands fly up in the air in defeat, but she's still laughing. "Alright then. You're crazy, y'know that?"

 

_Monday_

_"_ We're buying a new couch."

Lara looks up at the sound of Sam's voice, and drops the newspaper she was reading. "What?"

"If I have to sleep on the couch every time you don't see the humour in something…" Sam tilts her head sideways and a horrifyingly loud crack sounds out. "I need something a little more comfortable."

"Was more about you being a clumsy oaf, actually."

Lara gets a good view of Sam's middle finger as she walk away.

 

_Tuesday_

Sam walks into the kitchen to find Lara at the table, twirling a SD card between her fingers. "Jesus. And here it is, the revenge that I've been expecting." She gestures at Lara to hurry up. "Get on with it."

Lara does get on with it, and when she slides a glass of water out from behind a strategically placed bowl of bananas, Sam tenses. "Holy shit. No, I take that back.  _Do not_  do what I think you're planning on doing." Lara smiles and dangles the card over the glass. "Lara Croft.  _Don't you fucking dare_." The gap between the card and the water decreases.

Sam loses her self control, and lunges to snatch the card from Lara's hand. Which, really, is incredibly stupid, because she's trying to outmaneuver  _Lara_. Lara, who easily dodges out of the way. Sam manages to at least tip the water over (even though that same act is what started all of this) to prevent any drowned electronics. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you want this to stay safe?" Lara's backing away from Sam, keeping an even distance between the two of them. "I thought ruining it might be funny."

"I thought you'd do something like this but holy hell, Lara, have you lost your mind?" Sam takes a few slow steps towards Lara, who continues to back away at the same pace. "This isn't even close to the same thing!"

"It isn't? Really?" Lara taps her chin like she's thinking quite hard about something. "Well, I'm so sorry that I can't distinguish the line where ruined property become funny."

Sam takes a large, quick step towards Lara, who again matches it, backwards. "I can't believe this. Okay. This is… I want that back." She swiftly takes another large step, but doesn't stop this time.

Suddenly, the pair of them are in a Looney Tunes cartoon, sans the chase music.

"I think you're overreacting!" Lara yells over her shoulder as she jumps over the small coffee table in front of the sofa. She stops when she realizes that Sam has chosen to stand opposite her across the table.

The two of them shuffle left, then right, trying to block each other. "Overreacting?  _You_  were overreacting. I just want my work back." Sam fakes a sharp left step, but again, it's an incredibly stupid move, and Lara takes the opportunity to go to her left. "Fuck this, I'm done." Sam launches herself at Lara before she can register that Sam is actually going to such extremes to get the card back.

After the impact, Sam lands on top of Lara, and rips the card free. That's when the distinctive label that she uses on all her cards drops off. "Wait. This isn't even my… this is a fucking Centon. I don't use… did you actually go out and buy an SD card just to do this?" Lara's the one holding back a grin this time. "You pick a Centon, and it's a class 4, too? Jesus, yeah, go ahead and insult my integrity while you're busy giving me a heart attack. I'll go get you some blankets for the couch, you massive bag of dicks." Sam stands up and the card bounces off Lara's cheek after Sam flicks it down at her. She's too busy laughing to feel it.

 

_Wednesday_

When she hears a loud thump, Sam walks into the living room, toast in hand. A large lump of blankets are on the ground, and when she loudly clears her throat, a head pokes out of them.

"You win. We'll buy a new sofa."

Sam takes a bite of her toast and looks down. "That wasn't really the point I was trying to make." She smirks. "I think you've paid your dues with that graceful move, though."

"Shut up."

"But anyway, unless you  _do_  plan on making me sleep on the couch every time I'm clumsier than the oh so agile Lara Croft—the very same Lara Croft who left a glass of water in a stupid place—I think we're good."

A pillow hits Sam square in the face.

 

_Thursday_

"So…"

Sam looks around the room, confused, then at Lara. "So what?"

"Oh." Lara clicks her tongue a few times. "Thought you might be thinking about apologizing."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Well, I was actually thinking about the logistics and implications of Schrödinger's cat," Lara rolls her eyes. "But… not sure what I'm supposed be sorry about." She is, though. And she does feels like maybe she should at least apologize for the couch-kicking.  _Maybe_  it was partially her fault with the water, too.

"Hm."

"What about you?

Lara squints at her. "For what?"

"Seriously?"

In truth, Lara does feel a little bad about the whole SD card incident, but if Sam isn't going to apologize, neither is she. "You don't seem to think there's anything wrong, so I'm not sure what you're expecting from me." It  _might_  be a little petty, especially since she had unintentionally set everything up perfectly for the initial accident. Sam just happened to be the one that caused it.

"No, you're right. Everything is A-okay." Sam  _could_  bite the bullet and say sorry, but if Lara's going to be stubborn…

This could go on forever, and Lara's pride won't let her be the first to give in. "Good that we're on the same page now." She flashes Sam a big, shit-eating grin.

 

_Friday_

Awkward silence is plaguing the living room. Not complete silence, as a movie is playing on the TV, but silence between Lara and Sam. On a regular Friday movie night, there'd be playful arguing about choice of movie or choice of snacks. Sam pointing out flaws of continuity or bad camera angles. Lara talking about inaccuracies of dialogue or supposed 'facts'.

Instead they're quietly sitting beside each other, Lara with a bowl of popcorn resting on her lap, Sam eating straight out of a bag of Doritos.

When Lara notices Sam eyeing her popcorn, she asks, "You want some?"

"Nah."

"Fine."

The awkward silence intensifies as they stare at each other briefly, before going back to watching the movie that neither of them are really all that interested in.

Half an hour later, Sam reaches over and knocks the bowl out of Lara's lap. "Oops."

 

_Saturday_

Sam sighs.

Lara sighs.

Simultaneously, the same two words leave their mouths: "I'm sorry."

Sam looks over to Lara, who's sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "What?"

"You said the same, I'm pretty sure you understand it."

Sam sighs again, taking Lara's snippy response as an indication that Lara might not follow up on her 'sorry' after hearing her say the same thing. She lets herself fall sideways, so she ends up laying with her head in Lara's lap. "Let's just get this over with." She looks up. "Sorry I tackled you. That was a little excessive."

Lara looks down and smiles. "Alright, well, I  _might've_  actually overreacted when you knocked over that glass of water."

"I guess I'm sorry about that too. But seriously, I didn't mean to do that." Sam glances away for a second as she quietly mumbles, "Maybe somebody shouldn't have had a glass of water there in the first place."

"Yeah… I know. Overreacted. And, uh, I kinda did mean the SD card thing, but sorry for that, too."

"Now that we're both apologizing, I can admit that was actually a pretty good fake out." Sam chuckles. "Let's completely settle this, though." She digs her phone out of her pocket and holds it up to start typing.

"What are you doing?"

The phone flips up just long enough so Lara can see it. "eBay. I'll buy you a new copy of your dorky-"

"Shush."

Sam stops typing and looks up at Lara again, amused. "We're alone. At home. Surely that's more than enough for you to admit that you read-"

"Sam."

"Wow. Okay." Sam starts typing into the search bar. "What a horrible secret you have. That you read dorky-"

" _Sam._ "

"-Star Trek novels." A smug grin appears on Sam's face. "Which one did I wreck?"

Lara groans. "You're way too happy about just saying that out loud."

"Only because you refuse to. Which one am I searching for, Lara?"

Despite the disagreeable grumble that Lara lets out, she hesitantly answer's Sam's question. "… _Double, Double_." After a brief pause, she adds, "But it was a first printing."

"Oh my god. Whatever. Gimme a moment." Sam taps her phone a few more times. She snickers before she asks, "You said  _Double, Double_ , right? Forty fifth book?" Lara nods and Sam bites her lip again. "Awesome. I just found one here, 'near mint' condition—if that's good enough—costing a whopping £1.31." After she passes on the news, she gives in and lets herself giggle openly. "All of this over £1.31?"

Lara scowls down at the cackling face in her lap. "I hate you, sometimes." She rolls Sam off the sofa, and when she hears an thud and a grunt, she asks, "Isn't all that funny, is it?"

"So, you don't want me to order it, is what you're saying?"

Lara sheepishly looks down at Sam, and extends a hand. "No. No, I would like that." Sam gives her a tired look, and Lara shrugs. "Sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok first of all don't nerd rage at me the only reason i came up with 'dorky star trek novels' was because i was trying to think of something silly and looked to my right and saw my own shelf that's filled with at least 100 of them and i call them dorky endearingly (also today is like the 49th anniversary of star trek i think) second of all i know i fucked up and there should be one more sunday but whatever
> 
> Me and words ain't getting along so well right now, and I've got unfinished shit all over the place. Hopefully some new stitches soon?
> 
> So, hey, my horrible two months as a camera salesperson at a shithole of a store paid off! If not for that I wouldn't have written two sentences that nobody probably paid much attention to in a fanfic based on The Barenaked fucking Ladies! Well worth it.
> 
> Also, you probably don't need to listen to this song because it was pretty much All Star by Smash Mouth before All Star by Smash Mouth existed, if you know what I mean. Unless you're too young to know this song and if that's the case then you're making me feel old so I'm going to crankily tell you to go find it on youtube.
> 
> Oh, and when I googled to find the lyrics for this, I found a reddit thread about how this song is about murder and it was just fucking insane. Like, intense conspiracy theory shit. Barenaked Ladies conspiracy theories. Never thought I'd say those words together. Yikes.


	4. Another Soldier

  _a dear heart, a small part, i could have tried more  
_ _a sweet smell, a thin shell, a farewell, i should've cried more  
_ _i don't eat, i don't sleep, i just fight but what i long for  
_ _is a safe place, a kind face, the sweet taste i nearly died for_

_-another soldier, the feeling_

* * *

 [in which the guilt is suffocating]

When you stop and reflect upon it, the first time that you can remember feeling rage, true rage, was when Grim plummeted from that tower. Your blood went cold and the world went red and god knows how many arrows flew from your bow after that moment.

That was also the first time that you felt no regret or remorse about letting those arrows fly. You haven’t remembered that yet. It’s much harder to pin down the start point of a lack of feeling.

It was much later when reality hit you. That Grim was gone. It was during a brief respite, when you had a moment to collapse to the ground and rest the best you could without closing your eyes for longer than half a minute. It hit you, and your gut dropped so far, so fast, that you had to swallow back the bile that had crept up your throat. You also swallowed the tears, because you had no time for them. You had to get up and keep going, or worse things could happen (you chuckle at that thought, because they happened anyway). Grim was dead and you couldn’t even take the proper time to mourn him.

You assume that that was also around the time that you started running down the path towards your current level of fucked.

Because you _are_ fucked, and you’re well aware of it. You’re fucked up, on the severe end of the scale, you assume. If you weren’t, you probably wouldn’t be sitting outside, leaning back against your front door at three in the morning. If you weren’t, Sam probably wouldn’t currently be sleeping next to a cold, empty void beneath the blankets. If you weren’t, you could probably spend at least one night without despising yourself for not doing better. If you weren’t, you could probably spend a night actually sleeping.

But you’re fucked, and so you’re sitting here, staring blankly up at the night sky. There’s not much else to look at, at this hour. That’s okay though. You have a hard time looking at anything that isn’t pitch dark. You love Sam, Jesus do you love her. But… when you look at her, you see every failure. So, so many failures (and the failures _didn’t stop_ even after you left the island). All you wanted, all you needed, was to bring her home safe. And you did. You did, but the fact that you “succeeded” is slowly killing you. A loud bark of laughter accidentally slips out when you realize how ludicrous this is. 

You nearly died in the process of “succeeding”. Now your “success” is killing you instead.

The bottle of vodka beside you probably isn’t helping that matter either, but it sure as hell is helping your head stay fuzzy enough to give you occasional bouts of relief from everything that your brain is constantly screaming at you.

Part of the brain screaming issue is that you agree, one hundred percent, with everything that it tells you. You could have done more? Yeah. You should have been faster, more efficient? Without a doubt. You could have prevented _so_ much by choosing to not close your eyes around a man who, in painfully clear hindsight, was completely mad? That isn’t even a question. You could have spared a lot of blood and pain? For sure, if you had allowed your red haze to drop. You shouldn’t bother worrying about that last point, because they all deserved it? Yes…

But did they really?

The actual issue is that you’re lying to yourself about the percentage of your agreement. It’s more like ninety-nine percent. And that one percent that’s left over is the glaring problem.

When that one percent takes over—which happens far more than you’d like—you end up agonizing over every little detail of every little thing that’s happened since the moment you set foot onto The Endurance.

So many little things seem to have rapidly turned into a tangled mess of crushing, giant things.

Your knees have started to buckle, from the weight.

_“Aye, Lara, those bones have gone through a lot already.”_ You look to your left and Grim nods down at said knees. _“They can handle a lot more than you’re letting them.”_

You clamp your eyes shut. “No. Stop it.” Blindly, you pat the ground around you until you find your bottle, and you swing it in Grim’s direction. “You aren’t here anymore.” You peek, for less than a second. He’s starting to fade. “ _Go away!_ ”

You take a drink, and then hazard another look. He did what you told him to. “Thank you,” You mutter.

You’ve lost track of whether the alcohol is causing these ghosts or if it’s what’s allowing you to send them away. You’ve only noticed that your refuge of darkness is slowly becoming less effective. Ghosts don’t seem to mind the dark. 

Thing is, that doesn’t really upset you as much as you thought it would.

You wish it upset you. You’d like to feel something, anything, that doesn’t tie into the self-loathing that’s overtaken any other emotions. Even the anger would be better. You could at least try and use it for something.

That’s what you did when everything went dark crimson, after Roth stupidly saved you.

“ _It wasn’t stupid at all, but I didn’t save you just to watch you do this to yourself, Lara._ ”

Without looking in the direction of the voice, you slam your eyes shut again. “You’re gone. You aren’t watching anything.” You pause. Shake your head slightly. “Why don’t any of you know that you’re gone?”

Another drink before you continue yelling at the emptiness that surrounds you. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m not that type of Croft.” Your shouting devolves into whispering. “Isn’t that obvious by now?”

Afraid to chance seeing Roth, you take one more drink before you open your eyes. It works (does it?), and he’s nowhere to be seen.

You take it back. You don’t want the crimson anger. You wish it had dissipated the minute it showed up. Then you could have stayed one the ground with Roth, could have kept crying. Could have stayed and stopped.

But you know there’s no way that would have happened. It wasn’t only the anger that was fuelling you. It helped, but it wasn’t the main thing that pushed you to keep fighting.

That main thing was Sam. Keeping her safe. You fought to keep her safe. And so you had to hold on to that dark, dark, crimson. _Had_ to move on. Stop the tears. Push the loss to the side, and try not to take your mistake (no, ‘mistake’ isn’t even close to a strong enough word) to heart.

It worked somehow. You kept her safe.

“ _Yeah, you brought her home safe._ ” God, why won’t they shut up? “ _Brought her home to this. Damn, Croft, if I had know you’d flake on her like this, I wouldn’t have bowed out so quickly. Might have saved her from having to deal wi-_ ”

“Just fuck off, okay? _Fuck off!_ ” Lectures are the last thing you need right now.

“ _Can do. Did it the first time you told me to._ ”

You timidly glance up at the figure that isn’t in front of you. “Please do.” You hesitate, feeling strangely guilty about losing your temper ona _ghost_. “I’m sorry, Alex. I am. I wasn’t good enough. But you shouldn’t be here. You _aren’t_ here. So fuck off.”

“ _Alright. Off, I shall fuck. I just don’t think I’m the one you should be saying sorry to._ ”

You bang your head back against the door, as if it’ll help you get your point across. “Just go!” He shrugs, and you drink as you watch him fade.

You keep staring in his former direction, though. It’s long after he leaves when you quietly sigh. It turns into a short burst of hollow laughter as you concede, “Do you honestly think I don’t know that, Alex?”

As if the timing was cued, you hear another voice. A real one.

“Lara?”

You slump further, and your head thumps against the door when you tilt it back. You hate when Sam wakes up and finds that you’re gone. It’s so much easier when you can slip back into bed before she notices. You assume that she probably knows either way, but without a witness you can choose to let those nights go unacknowledged.

Footsteps are shuffling towards you, so you lean forward to prevent yourself from tumbling backwards when she inevitably opens the door. You end up curling into yourself more than you intended to, and you take the opportunity to rest your head in your hand. Everybody’s really wearing you down, tonight.

The door creaks, and you can feel her looking down at you. “Hey.”

Her simple greetings of late tell you that she’s started to run out of comforting words. That, or she’s started to run out of patience.

“Hey,” You parrot, without bothering to move.

She doesn’t move either, just stands behind you, holding the door. “Come back to bed, please.”

A strange croaking noise fills the silence that grows after you don’t respond. It takes you a moment to realize that the sound came from you. You shift around to look up at her, and when you do, Roth is standing behind her (isn’t once enough?), smiling for a change. It’s weird, but _he’s smiling_ so you smile back for a fraction of a second, before he starts to fade back to wherever he came from. Your smile turns into a grimace when you see the axe lodged in his back.

Sam, of course, has no idea what you’re staring at and making faces about, and she frowns. You hope that she can see the apology in your eyes before you look back out into the darkness. “Can’t sleep.” Your voice sounds foreign to you. Doesn’t sound quite right.

“That doesn’t mean you have to sit out here, like this.” You know what ‘like this’ means. Anticipating Sam’s fix for the ‘like this’ part of the situation, you take a (final) drink. A dejected noise comes from behind you. You plunk the bottle back down beside you; it just goes smoother that way. “Could you at least come back inside?”

There’s suddenly a lump in your throat that’s keeping you from responding. You don’t know where it came from, and you can’t swallow it away for some reason.

Silence stretches again, and eventually you see movement in your peripheral vision, hear the sound of a light clink of glass. Yeah, your self prescribed medication is going down the drain again. You briefly consider trying to snag it back from Sam, but last time you did that, you were far too… you missed, spectacularly. She was _not_ happy about any of it, and you don’t really feel like stepping on any glass shards tonight.

“Okay.” The sigh that follows is heavy, and she sounds tired. “Stay there, then. You know there’s always an empty spot waiting in here for you, if you change your mind.”

You try to reply, again, but you make that strange croaking noise, again. Footsteps shuffle away from you, and the door hangs open. Lacking any interest to fix that, you choose to just lean forward again. Your hands feel wet after a few seconds, and confused about that, you pull your head back to wipe at whatever is on your face. You sniffle, and only then do you realize that you’re crying.

You’re crying.

You haven’t, since you’ve been home. You haven’t been able to.

Something’s snapped. Why, how, and when, you have no idea. Maybe they finally wore you down enough. Maybe that’s really why they’ve been hanging around.

You can only hope that Sam is still within range when you call out for her. Or when you try to, at least. You release a giant sob instead of her name. It still succeeds in getting her attention, though, and you hear the door creak further open again.

“Lara?” Her tone is completely different from what it was minutes ago.

You’re sure that your shoulders are visibly shaking, and you can’t seem to make any noises that aren’t strangled. Behind you, Sam stays quiet. Probably watching and probably waiting for whatever new bullshit you’ve probably started, you assume. You only know that she’s still there because of a lack of footsteps leading away from you. She stands there for you-don’t-know-how-long while you continue to make inarticulate sounds. You do manage to get one legible word out, though.

“help”

You choke it out so quietly that _you_ can barely hear it through all the other ugly noises that you’re making. Sam must have caught it, because the footsteps that you’re so accustomed to hear leaving are pattering around you, and suddenly she’s crouched in front of you.

“What did you say?” 

When you look up, she’s watching you with hope in her eyes. You don’t… maybe it’s simply your foggy memory, but you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen that.

“Help.” It comes out far more solid than the first time, but you dissolve back into whimpers within a second.

“I… Yeah.” Any hint of defeat that was in her voice before is gone, and the slightest of a smile is twitching on her lips. “Of course. I- I’ve been waiting. I was worried… I was starting to think you weren’t going to give me the chance.” You hear slight confusion, probably at the suddenness of this, but you hear none of the defeat. As she stands up, she asks again, “Will you come back inside with me now?”

You nod and stumble a bit as you push yourself up from the ground. Before she can react, you lurch forward, and you’re hanging onto her like your life depends on it (maybe it does). She doesn’t try to pull or push away, doesn’t try to usher you back through the door. Doesn’t repeat any of her actions of late. She just silently holds you while you crumble apart against her. No, she’s holding you to keep you _from_ crumbling apart.

You have no idea what cracked inside you, but you think that you’re glad that it did. How much longer until you would’ve hit the end of the road you were on, you don’t know. It’s probably not worth thinking about right now. So you stop thinking for the first time in far too long, and let yourself continue to cry as you cough out your plea one more time.

“Please help me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops my hand slipped?
> 
> Through my experiences, I've found that you can't help somebody until they're ready to take that help. You can try and convince them that they might need some help, but you can't actually give them that help until they're willing to accept it. It's fucked up, but you can't force help on somebody who's convinced they don't need it. Or deserve it.


	5. Human

_underneath the skin there's a human_  
_buried deep within there's a human_  
_and despite everything i'm still human  
_ _...i think that i'm still human_

_-human, daughter_

* * *

 

 _[in which you're_ **_not_ ** _a Croft, Lara]_

"Are you fucking kidding me, Lara? You what— you make a mistake, one mistake, and suddenly you're some kind of menace to society? Come on, you know better than that."

That was one of the last things Sam said to you before you had to walk away. You didn't want to hear her make excuses for you. _More_ excuses for you. Because it wasn't one mistake, it was just the latest mistake.

More of an event, than a mistake, in your opinion.

Kicking somebody's kneecap in doesn't feel like an "oops" to you. Especially as all the poor man was trying to do was return the credit card you had forgotten to take back after paying for your groceries. Your cereal. All you wanted was some cereal, and now here you are, huddled up in the corner of your bedroom that you've locked Sam out of.

To be fair, that's rather minor as all that man probably wanted was to have working knees. He probably can't even huddle in the corner of his room right now.

Honestly, you don't know why Sam's trying so hard this time. You've gotten over defensive before, but you've not hurt anybody so severely until today. You're really not sure how you've even been allowed to come home. You're not quite sure you want to know. Sam had a hand in it, likely, but you don't know that you want to find out anything further.

Sitting in your corner, you've come to the conclusion that a majority of people who come into contact with you are to damned to a hospital visit at the least. You'd say actually hospitalized at worst, but you've killed a few too many people to convince yourself of hospital rooms being the worst outcome.

Now though, you're kind of starting to feel that _you_ should be the one put in a room.

Not specifically a hospital room and preferably with yourself intact, but you're willing to let that slide if necessary. Just any room with a lock on the opposite side of the door. People can't accidentally "sneak up" on you in a locked room, and therefore you can't accidentally incapacitate them. People can't be around you in general, if you're locked away somewhere. You hate to think that that would be a good thing, but…

With everything you've been doing lately?

How have you _not_ already been caged up somewhere?

Because you've been very busy lately. What with kicking the hell out of somebody who bumped into you from behind (you were very lucky that the reason he was in such a hurry was because he had just pickpocketed someone), or throwing an elbow at somebody whose dog happened to bark at the wrong time (you were very lucky that she was so tall, or you actually would have connected with her throat), or… well, terrorizing and assaulting the general public, to put it simply.

And it's all because you can't let go of that island. Can't switch off the instincts that were ingrained into you during your time there. Can't change who you are now. You can't say that you expected to do so immediately, but it's been months. It's been months and you still have Sam stepping out in front of you, an apology and weak explanation started within seconds. Perhaps it's actually more about stepping _between_ you and the unfortunate person on the receiving end of your fist. Either way, it's all probably accompanied by other things that you can't remember.

You sort of lose yourself during your "accidents", and that's why you can't call Sam out with one hundred percent certainty. It bothers you, yes, but you're also slightly grateful for it, as it means you don't quite remember what you've done either. You probably should care, but ignorance is bliss. Not that you're blissful in the slightest, but still. Less fuel to stoke your self-loathing.

But you need to be real with yourself, for a moment at least. It _is_ Sam. It's all Sam. You're almost sure now that you really _don't_ want to know what she's been doing to keep being able to bring you home.

So you stop thinking about that, and end up thinking about how, with all of this put together, you don't know who or what you've become. You're trying so hard to hang on to what Roth told you: _"You're a Croft, Lara"._

It gives you an identity. Something to ground yourself with. Something to call yourself other than a wreck, a disaster, a mess, a… monster.

But really, you know that all that is is a name, and every time you do something like this? You feel something crack, as if that name is a tree branch that's slowly breaking. Like you're desperately hanging onto it because you can't reach another and you know there's no safety net set up beneath you.

That metaphorical branch keeps making cracking noises, and you're afraid to look up at it ( _no, to look at yourself_ ) to check how much longer before it'll break off completely ( _no, how much longer before you break completely_ ).

So, beyond a meaningless name that you're afraid to let out of your grasp, what are you now? A lot of things that you don't even want to bother trying justify with metaphors. Or justify at all, really. But those are all the bits you're trying to lose. They don't seem to want to go, though and actually, the question is less "what have you become" and more "what parts of you remain", you suppose. Because you do occasionally feel glimpses of what is starting to seem like your past self. Past, because the bits that actually are leaving you are those that are giving you the glimpses.

Everything is Pre-Yamatai Lara vs. Post-Yamatai Lara.

And yes, versus is the correct term, because it _does_ feel like a struggle.

You're afraid to find out which Lara it is that'll win the struggle.

There's a knock at the door, and you startle, pulling you out of your thoughts. Why you keep getting caught off guard, you aren't sure, because the knocking has become a steady routine. If you had to guess, you'd say it happens about every fifteen minutes or so.

And just like you did fifteen minutes or so ago, you ignore it.

There's one final knock before you hear Sam's voice again. "Can you talk to me, please, Lara?" You don't. "Fucking… I don't even care what it's about, okay? Just _something_ , please. I can't… just. Give me some sort of symbol that you're okay in there, at least."

Okay? That you're _okay_? You scoff, though it's probably not loud enough for her to hear.

"Goddammit, Lara. Just… make a noise or something. _Please._ "

You look around the floor, pick up a slipper, and chuck it at the door. It thumps against it and then drops to the ground.

"Alright," She sighs, "Well, fuck you too, then."

Silence stretches long enough that you're ready to go back to hating yourself when there's a sudden loud thud against the door. "You want to take responsibility," _Thud._ "for everything, right?" _Thud._ "I don't know how you," _Thud._ "fucking expect to do that by," _Thud._ "fucking hiding away like this." There's a final _loud_ thud, followed by a string of swears, and then everything goes quiet again.

You wait a minute before getting up and unlocking the door like Sam said. You don't want to talk, but suppose you'll just go with it the next time she actually tries the handle. Still, something in you causes you hesitate at the door before sitting back down. Something else in you said that you did as asked, and that that's enough for now.

So, yes, you've been crediting Sam for keeping you here, at home. Not locked away somewhere. But every time you lose it like this, shut her out, you notice her become just the slightest bit more irate. Become ever so slightly more distant. You worry (wonder?) how many more "accidents" it'll take before you push her away enough that she'll finally stop.

Because while you're starting to think that might be best, you _know_ that thought hasn't crossed her mind.

You wouldn't be sitting here if it had, would you?

Another loud thud makes you jump, and it seems that Sam's gone off schedule. Three more in quick succession, before you cut in. "It's open. Don't wreck your knuckles."

A long pause passes before the door creaks open. Sam shuts it behind her after stepping in.

"I was kicking it, actually. For what it's worth."

You shrug.

"So, how long have I been locked out for?" She emphasizes "locked" with air quotes.

"However long it's been since that last attempt."

She brings a hand up in front of her face, watching as she flexes it. "Ah. I need to make you think that I'm hurting, then? To get you to let me in? Well," She looks around. "Into the room, at least."

"I-"

"Y'know, punching the door isn't the only thing that might hurt me. And I can certainly be hurt in ways that aren't physical."

You try again, "I don't want to-"

"Sure, you don't. But you've gotta know, right? That you're doing it anyway."

You drop your head to rest against the heel of your palm. "Of course I know."

She chews on the inside of her cheek, and looks away from you for a moment. "Great." She inhales sharply before turning back, and it looks like she's going to say something. She stops herself though, and runs a hand through her hair instead.

"Why?" You take the opportunity to ask.

"Why…" Her brow creases. "Why what?"

"Why do you keep bringing me home?"

She blinks. "You've kinda got the answer right there in that question. This is our home. You want me to drop you off at the neighbours'?"

You cock your head and raise an eyebrow.

She crosses her arms, and her fingers tap against her bicep.

"Don't act dumb. I assaulted that man, and I just get to come home? You can't tell me you weren't off talking some sort of deal to keep me from being hauled off somewhere. I assume this wouldn't be the first time either."

It's her turn to raise an eyebrow. You continue to stare at her.

"Fine," Sam eventually says, before looking up to talk to the ceiling. "We're just… going to be sending him a _little_ more than Get Well flowers."

You let your chin slip off your hand to hang you head down.

"Lara."

"No! Stop," You snap at her. "What is this now? Are you buying me the right to do whatever I want to whoever I want?" You don't want to do anything to anybody, but you don't have the clarity to come up with proper phrasing.

"It's not always…" She continues avoiding you, staring at her feet this time. "Plus, you're still kinda fifteen minute famous…"

"Oh, god. I'm Disney child star."

That prompts Sam to finally meet your eyes. She crouches down to be level with you. "It's not quite like… whatever. Doesn't matter right now, does it? What matters is that you're not some celebrity on a bender. You're Lara Croft. And that's exactly who I want you to be. Who I want to help you go back to being. Yourself."

You smile at that, which prompts Sam to frown. "Right, well, what does that even mean? Anything?" She's still frowning as she rubs at her face. You're not explaining that, so you tell her, "Never mind."

"I don't know what that was about, but it seems like something I should mind, Lara."

You evade. "So, you want me to be Lara Croft, the terror of the city?"

"Listen," She sighs, "You can't keep getting caught up on this stuff, or you're never going to make it out of this. You have to stop calling yourself these things, or you're just going to be caught in a never-ending loop of self-fulfilling prophecies." Her voice turns into a parody of yours, "Let me get locked up, Sam. I belong in a cage. I'm a horrible creature." You glare at her and she drops the accent. "You aren't helping yourself, and I know I'm not exactly helping you in the right way either. But I can't do it the right way if you won't let me. Please."

She extends her hand out to you, an offer to help you up. You don't take it.

"Okay, I'm not going to say that I get it, because I don't. But you're just a human, y'know? I don't know what's in your head making you think that you're something worse, but you aren't. You're just human. And humans aren't perfect, okay? You don't have to be perfect. You just have to be ha… I just _want_ you to be happy."

"And what?" You let out a hollow laugh. "You think I _don't_ want that?"

She stays crouched in front of you, though she does retract her hand. She's quiet for a fair amount of time before standing back up and almost whispering, "I'm… yeah, I'm starting to."

With that, you hang your head again, because maybe she's right. You've not exactly been hiding in this room, thinking positive thoughts, have you? You've not spent much time at all feeling "good" about yourself.

"I want to say you're wrong, but…" Your voice cracks, and you clear your throat, but don't bother finishing your sentence.

Sam's face falls, and for a long time she stands silently, watching you sit silently, watching the floor.

"So," She says quietly, breaking the silence. "What now?"

You just shake your head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit, did i forget to put the happy at the end?
> 
> So, between the start of school, being exceptionally tired, a complete word block, and the hell that is December, it's been awhile, hasn't it? I was also rather uninspired by Rise. While a fantastic game, it lacked much of a story, yeah? Also lacked Sam, but we knew that. And retconning already? Yikes. (I'm talking Lara's dad.)
> 
> Consequently this feels a little rough but whaddya do?
> 
> Anyway, I'm going to see if I can keep from disappearing again. I've got a few things started, mostly stuff that I tried to get out for Endurance week. It all got lost to December hell. But I can probably incorporate them all into this lil series so whatever.


End file.
